


The Things That Were Thrown Away

by dimeliora



Series: Lost Time [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-30 00:08:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimeliora/pseuds/dimeliora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A timestamp for "Lost Time", examines Dean and Gabriel's pasts. Won't make much sense if you haven't read "Lost Time", and has spoilers for the story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dean

Dean is seven when his father leaves him at Uncle Bobby’s for two months. It’s the longest they’ve ever been apart, and Dean understands why.  It’s the anniversary of Sam’s death, and it’s always hard for John to be around him when that time comes. Hard for John to look at him and know that it is Dean’s fault, Dean’s _weakness_ that left his defenseless baby brother in that bed as the house crumbled around them. So he doesn’t fault his father for leaving, but he wishes that he wouldn’t. That there was some way to make it up to him.  
  
Being with Uncle Bobby isn’t so bad though. The older hunter is gruff, outright grumpy in the morning, but he always makes sure that Dean eats three meals and has a good place to sleep. It’s over a huge bowl of oatmeal that Uncle Bobby asks him the one question he wasn’t expecting.   
  
“What do you want to be when you grow up boy?”  
  
Dean keeps his eyes on the oatmeal and wonders if this is a trick question. There’s a weird tone in Uncle Bobby’s voice. “A hunter sir. Just like dad.”  
  
He expects that to be the end of it, but it isn’t. “Why?”  
  
Why? He’s never thought of _why_ before. “Because that’s what we do. I’ll get to kill the thing that killed mom. I’ll get to-“ He cuts off before he says something stupid and fills his mouth with oatmeal. Uncle Bobby is having none of it.  
  
“You’ll git to what Dean?”  
  
He ducks his head once, unable to avoid answering a direct question. That’s not the way he was raised. “I’ll get to make up for failing Sammy.”  
  
Uncle Bobby is silent for a long time, and the air in the kitchen turns heavy and thick. The oatmeal doesn’t taste good anymore, but Dean spoons it into his mouth because dad says you always finish everything in front of you. Finally his uncle clears his throat and sits back with a loud creak of the old wooden chair. “That what you think?”  
  
And Dean? He can’t help the tears that start to fall, and they make him angry. Because only babies cry. “I _know_ it. I left him, and he was my responsibility.”  
  
Uncle Bobby stands then, curses low and thick before leaving the room. It’s an act of intense will that Dean gets the last of the oatmeal down, and then slips his dishes into the sink and pulls the chair up so he can do them. When Uncle Bobby comes back he has two baseball gloves hanging loosely from his right hand and a baseball in the left. “Come on boy. Leave ‘em alone and let’s go outside.”  
  
He obeys, and they end up in a wide part of the yard with no cars as Uncle Bobby explains how to fasten the glove. Where to watch and how to cock his arm. They throw the ball back and forth for a long time before Dean has to ask about what’s bothering him. “Sir? What are we training for?”  
  
“Balls.” Uncle Bobby looks angry again, and Dean shrinks a little before the man is crossing the space between them and hunkering down. He drops the glove to the ground and takes both of Dean’s bony little shoulders in his big, calloused hands. “I ain’t mad at you boy. I’m mad at your stupid daddy. This ain’t trainin’ for anything. This is playin’ catch, and you should already know how to do it. You ain’t an adult boy, not yet, and little boys need time to _be_ little boys.”  
  
Dean’s chin comes up at that, insulted and upset, and he meets the fierce blue eyes and juts his jaw out a bit. “I’m seven. That’s old enough to start learning. Old enough to be responsible.”  
  
Uncle Bobby shakes him once, hard, and it surprises Dean so badly he jerks and really looks at his uncle. “Listen carefully Dean Winchester, cause I ain’t saying this for my health. I know you’re loyal to your daddy, and that’s a good thing. Ya’ll are family and you need to be loyal to that. But your daddy is a good hunter and that makes him a focused idjit. He should have tole you by now that what happened to Sam ain’t your fault. You may not be a normal seven year old boy, but you didn’t have any way to save Sam. You couldn’t do anything. _It ain’t your fault Dean_.”  
  
The tears are back, but this time Dean doesn’t stop them. He can’t believe Bobby, not entirely, but it’s the first time anyone has ever said it. His uncle wraps both arms around him and he’s enveloped in the smell of oil and whiskey and cologne. Held tight as he shudders and shakes in his uncle’s warm embrace.  
  
When dad comes back he and Uncle Bobby fight, and Dean doesn’t get to see as much of his uncle as he wants to after that, but he never forgets the feeling of being forgiven, even if it was just for a little while.

 

  
  
\-----

 

  
Dean’s eleven when he realizes just how radically different his thought processes are from the people around him. Oh sure, he knew that most other kids didn’t know how to shoot a moving target or behead a vampire. That cleaning and reassembling guns, hunting werewolves, and lying to the authorities wasn’t high on the list of things kids his age are supposed to know. All of that made sense to him. It’s what he sees coming home from the bus that doesn’t click properly.   
  
He knows the Barlow kids. He has classes with the older one, and the little brother is never far from his older brother. That part fits with Dean’s understanding. Watching Lee Barlow follow his older brother around with big, wondering eyes is something Dean is incapable of not doing. There’s always that little part of him that wonders if Sammy would have been that way. If he would have been just as idolized by his younger sibling.   
  
What Dean isn’t prepared for is to round the corner on the way to the old house his dad is renting during this hunt, and see Sebastian Barlow and one of his friends pushing little Lee back and forth between them. Lee is crying, backpack dangling from his shoulder by one strap as he’s shoved back and forth. Dean is close enough to hear Sebastian taunting his little brother. “Cry baby. Cry baby.”   
  
The sound of it makes something in Dean start to scream, and he watches as Lee covers his face and begins to sob wholeheartedly. The kid is barely old enough to ride the bus with them, and incredibly small. So small and fragile. Sebastian gives his brother a particularly hard shove, and Lee hits the ground. Dean can see from his position that the little hands strike rocks on the road, and there’s blood blooming on the palms where they tear tender baby skin and the wails become hideous and insistent.  
  
Years later Dean will not be able to explain what happened next to anyone’s satisfaction. Not to his own, not to his father’s, and not to the very small number of people who know this particular story. He comes back to himself with Sebastian’s friend running and screaming about getting his parents, and Sebastian on the ground under Dean’s driving fists. The boy’s nose is bloody, face already swelling, and Dean’s hands hurt. He’s shouting too, voice gravelly and thick suggesting he’s been doing it for a while.   
  
“Never. You never hurt your brother. Never hurt your brother. You protect him. You never hurt him you son of a bitch!”  
  
He stops when a little hand lands on his wrist, and looks up to see soft eyes and brown hair. “Sammy?” It’s out of his mouth before he can help it, but the little boy touching him is not his brother. Never his brother.   
  
“Please. Please stop.” Lee’s eyes are huge, full of tears, and Dean gets up and staggers backwards with the weight of what he’s done hanging on his shoulders. He used his training on a civilian. He scared this little boy. This little boy who’s the age Sammy would be if he had…  
  
Dean staggers backwards, stomach rebelling and hands shaking, and then he runs to the place they’re staying. It’s not home. _Never_ home, but it’s four walls and a roof and Dean is willing to pretend that’s good enough. By the time his dad comes home Dean doesn’t even know what he’s going to tell him. The Barlow parents will no doubt want to talk to him, and Dean is gonna be in trouble, but he can’t seem to make himself care too much. All he can think of is the haunted look in Lee’s eyes. The loss of control seeing Sebastian hurt his little brother.  
  
Dad doesn’t seem to be too angry though, and when he talks to Mr. Barlow his eyes glint hard at the accusation that Dean is “out of control”.  
  
“Way I heard it your older boy was the one out of control. Beating up on his kid brother, the boy should be ashamed. My son doesn’t put up with bullies.”  
  
When Mr. Barlow storms off, muttering angrily about drifters and bad apples Dad slams the door shut and then sits across from Dean and cleans his bloody and split knuckles silently.   
  
“Dad I-“  
  
“Son, I’m proud of you.”  
  
There’s a swell of emotion that Dean swallows down quickly as he watches his dad’s big hands carefully work on his much smaller ones. He blinks back tears and looks up to see his dad’s face shining, smile broad and eyes warm. He sees it so infrequently that he wants to take a picture. To capture this look forever.  
  
“Dad?”  
  
“The first and most important job we have is protecting the innocent and the weak. You did that today. More importantly, nothing comes before blood Dean. Family is all we have, and we protect that. You did that too, and I couldn’t be prouder of you. Don’t let that idiot make you feel bad for standing up for what we believe in.”  
  
Dean never forgets that speech, more words in one place than his father ever usually spares, and he never forgets the look on his dad’s face. The way his dad lets him stay up that night watching movies with him, and he gets more than two sips of his dad’s beer. It’s a lesson that plants itself more firmly than any of the ones regarding hand-to-hand combat or weapons care. It’s one Dean internalizes so deeply it becomes a part of his genetics.  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
Dean loses his virginity at fourteen to a woman twice his age in a bar his dad is collecting information in. The whole encounter leaves him vaguely unsatisfied in a way he can’t quite explain. It’s not that she’s not skilled, or pretty, because she’s certainly both of those things. He’s more than happy to have her instruct him on the best way to please her, and he’s got a little bit of experience when it comes to everything up to penetration. That doesn’t change the fact that when the big moment comes a little part of Dean wonders if it isn’t a waste to be doing it in the dirty men’s room stall in a nowhere bar in a town he’ll never remember the name of.  
  
It’s not that Dean wants more from his life than he has. Soon he’ll be able to drop out of school and be a full-time hunter with his dad. He’s tired of conforming, of pretending that equations and American history are the end all be all. He’s tired of being someone he’s not. Sure, other kids might look at him funny when he doesn’t have a curfew, when he admits that his dad isn’t home, or that he’s in charge of making his own meals. He’s gotten used to the funny looks, and for the most part he’s figured out what lies to tell to avoid giving anyone any indication that all is not normal in the Winchester household.   
  
He doesn’t invite other kids over to the motel rooms anymore, and he doesn’t tell them anything personal if he can help it. Every school is the same though, and Dean’s tired of blowing through them and being the new kid. He doesn’t have the problems most of the new kids have. He’s considered cool without trying. The growth spurt, the muscles from training, and the devil-may-care attitude that comes from being responsible for himself since he was twelve have taken care of any lingering sense of insecurity that bullies would pick up on. What they see is a confidence that is usually only present in adults, a cockiness one of his teachers told him with disgust, and Dean wants them to see that.  
  
He wants this.  
  
Being a hunter, being a bad-ass, that’s what he has to do to make sure that his dad knows he’s worth that look of pride that comes so infrequently. It’s what has to happen to take off that lingering disappointment from Dean’s first and largest failure. So he makes sure that all of his studies come second, that he obeys every order without questioning, and that he always follows his father’s simple rules. He’s spent years watching cop movies and war films so he knows what a good soldier does, and how to react to the moments he can’t understand. He’s prepared, he’s calm, and he knows what to do. He doesn’t need to be a rebel, because he likes being a follower. Likes doing what his dad wants and making him proud.  
  
Which doesn’t explain why this is so disappointing. He should be happy that he’s able to bag a woman so much older than him. He should be proud that he’s become a man. Instead he watches her slip her panties into the pocket of his jacket and kiss his cheek sloppily before staggering out of the bathroom. He watches and he wonders what it would have been like for this to have meant something. For him to have at least known her name, and to know what she was like as a person instead of as a quick and dirty fuck.  
  
When he comes out though, lipstick bright and vivid on his cheek, Dad and Uncle Caleb both smack him heartily on the back and crow about what a man he is. Dad even orders him a shot, and Dean winces around the burn as he takes it in and feels that warmth settle in his chest. Soothe away any lingering disappointment and concern.  
  
\------  
  
Shortly after Dean turns twenty-one he sees his Uncle Bobby again. The last time he saw the older hunter he was eleven, and his father and Bobby had a fight that ended their interaction entirely. Dean’s alone on a hunt right now though, and he couldn’t think of anyone else to call. A part of him thought Uncle Bobby wouldn’t answer, that he would deny Dean help, but the older man didn’t. Until he sees the craggy face he remembers so vividly from childhood Dean believes it’s out of a sense of duty that Bobby showed up.   
  
The smile on his uncle’s face does wonders to ease that fear. The tight and brief hug Bobby gives him buries the thought six feet deep, and Dean hugs the old man back as hard as he possibly can.   
  
There’s no awkwardness between them even though Dean expects it. Instead his uncle works through the case with him, and when they find out the identity of the ghost the two of them end up in the graveyard taking turns digging out the body and chatting amiably about hunting and life in general. Which is when Bobby asks him about his graduation ceremony.   
  
“Didn’t have one.” He grunts at a particularly hard patch of earth, digging out graves this late in the season is always a bitch, and then throws the dirt out of the hole and goes back to work. “Dropped out and got my G.E.D.”  
  
There’s silence for long enough that Dean chances a glance upwards and sees the stormy look on Bobby’s face as he fiddles with the brim of his cap. “Why the hell would you do that boy?”  
  
“Because they had nothing left to teach me. Nothing I needed to know anyway. You think they had classes on how to dig graves Bobby? Or set traps for monsters?”  
  
“Yeah idjit, it’s called physics and it’s got loads of real-life application that you’d know if you’da finished. This your dad’s idea?”  
  
And yeah, maybe Dad had hinted at it, but it had been Dean’s decision. _Dean’s choice_. “Nope. Came up with it all on my own. Shine the flashlight this way ok? I think I’m almost there.”  
  
Bobby angles the light and grunts once before gearing up for an argument. Dean can hear it in the way he breathes. “I wish I woulda had more of an impact on you. Every damn kid I come in contact with seems to think education is useless.”  
  
“Every kid Bobby? How many kids you mentoring these days?” It’s supposed to be a joke, but when he looks up there’s a heavy expression on the parts of Bobby’s face that the moonlight illuminates. Something that makes it not so much a joke and more a bitter pill Bobby has to swallow down.  
  
“None of your business boy. Shift your right hand. Your grip ain’t gonna do your back any favors.”  
  
When it’s over and done with they sit together in a bar and sip whiskey beside each other. Bobby looks over at one point and Dean thinks he sees something almost tender in the old man’s eyes. Something gentle. “You know boy, I woulda been proud of you no matter what you did right?” The unspoken _unlike your father_ hangs heavy in the air between them. While it makes Dean happy, makes him glow a little, it’s got nothing on making his dad proud.  
  
  
\-----  
  
It occurs to Dean as he stands over the pyre and listens to the woman weeping beside him that it’s his twenty-fourth birthday. He forgot.   
  
In the rush of adrenaline brought on by the hunt, the need to find and destroy, to protect and save, it never occurred to Dean to look at the date. It happens more often these days. Without Dad around the structure of his life is based off training and seeking, and while he looks at multiple papers every day, unless it has to do with ritual times or lunar cycles he has no interest in dates. Every week blends into the one before it.  
  
It’s actually that way with everything. Each small-town diner, each easy lay, each hunt becomes the one before it or the one before that. Life is simply a cycle of get up, do, move on. It bothers Dean a little that his introspection is brought on by the death of the young man in front of him. Well, that and the grief of the boy’s mother. He was a boy too, just sixteen and so damn eager to please. It was his mother that was supposed to be helping Dean go after the siren. The kid wasn’t supposed to follow. Wasn’t supposed to try to go after the damn thing.  
  
He’s pulled out of his musings when the woman, _Diane_ her name is Diane, starts slamming fists into his chest. He stands still, takes the beating, and then wraps his arms around her and pulls her in. She sobs out her heartbreak against his chest. “You let him die. You let him die. Goddamn _Winchesters_.”  
  
Dean would argue. He would point out that he was hesitant to work with her when he saw the kid trailing along behind, that she shouldn’t have had him in the life anyway because he was too soft, but all of that would fall on deaf ears. Hers and his, because at the end of the day he kind of did let it happen. When the boy offered to do the research Dean let him, and when it was time to watch his tail Dean didn’t look hard enough. Didn’t see a damn teenager following behind him. It was a rookie mistake, and Dean Winchester is no rookie.  
  
So he stands still and absorbs her grief and the weight of guilt that goes with it. This is his fault too, and he’s been taught to own up to his mistakes. To take responsibility for his actions. He won’t turn away from it. When the fire finally burns out he turns the earth for Diane, and watches her slip ashes into a small jar and carry it close to her breast as he drives her back to her own car and her belongings. Her final words to him are harsh and hateful.   
  
“You’re just like your father.”

Dean only half considers it a compliment.  
  
He knows the stories. Knows that his dad is known for being a world-class hard-ass. That there’s no one in the hunting community that doesn’t say John Winchester’s name with a mixture of awe and anger, and that no hunter in his right mind would take his dad on. They usually won’t work with him either. There’s Pastor Jim of course, and Caleb is there often, but Dean knows that this is because of Jim’s good-hearted nature and Caleb’s adoration. It’s hard for Dean himself to find people to work with, because the shadow of his father’s influence hangs heavily over his head. It’s something he can’t escape, and there was a time he didn’t want to.   


 

\----

 

They’re sitting on the porch while Sam is grocery shopping, and Dean watches Ope banter back and forth with Loki. Sees the way her eyes light up when they land on the smaller man, and how she presents her body in a way he’s never seen her do anywhere else. He knows what that look is, and what she’s doing, but he’s not going to call her on it. Instead he just drinks his beer and watches her pretend she’s not interested.  
  
He’s pretty sure Loki isn’t fooled either.  
  
It’s at some point while he’s studying the tree line and draining the last of his fourth beer that he hears Loki clear his throat pointedly. He looks over to see brightly colored amber eyes studying him, and the tell-tale smirk curling up the geek’s lips.   
  
“I said, Dean-o.”  
  
“It’s Dean.” Half the time he can’t tell if he hates the guy. “Dean.”  
  
“Yeah, like I said, Dean-“ a beat, “-o. Can I ask you a question?”  
  
“Is it how to treat a broken nose?” Ope snorts and lights a cigarette while Loki looks on without seeming even the least bit intimidated.   
  
“No, but I’ll keep in mind that you know how. I was going to ask about that file I got on you. Who robs graves outside of a Victorian Gothic?” His voice is warm and friendly, and Dean jerks once at the sound of it forming those words. That is _not_ the tone that should accompany that sort of question.  
  
The file had honestly slipped his mind. Sam hadn’t been interested, and Dean had been so grateful he didn’t care that it existed at all. Which means this little guy knows more about Dean than he ever wanted shared. Knows about the murder charges, the assault and fraud, and the laundry list of trumped up bullshit that hangs over Dean’s head. Knows and seems to not give two shits at all. Whether it’s that or the beer that makes Dean’s tongue loose he’ll never know.  
  
“I don’t rob graves. I dig up corpses and salt and burn them so ghosts will be dispelled.”   
  
Ope chokes on her own beer and looks up through wide and shocked blue eyes. “ _Dean_.” She sounds scandalized, and considering the heinous shit they’ve said in front of each other that’s a little amusing.   
  
“No sweets I want to hear this. Ghosts you say? Is that a hobby?” Loki’s eyes are even brighter now, and he leans in slightly like Dean is going to whisper a secret to him.

  
“A living.” Which isn’t really true at all. It’s dying, dying in action because that’s all Dean has really seen. Don’t the lines on his chest attest to that? To the ridiculous stupidity of his whole set of values and beliefs? But it has to be done, and if someone has to do it then thank whoever for making idiots like Dean Winchester. The incredibly bitchy tone of his own thoughts surprises him. Apparently he’s in the mood for a melancholy drunk.  
  
“Oh.” Loki sits back and rubs at his chin for a second before he sips the Smirnov Ice Dean wants so badly to mock him for. “How’s that pay?”  
  
“Not well. Hence the credit card fraud.” Ope’s shaking her head violently, looking at him like he’s grown a second and third head and all three started singing show tunes, but Dean continues like he can’t see her. “I get paid in getting run off by cops after saving people’s lives. I get paid in derision and living as a fucking fugitive. I get paid in bullshit and suspicion and ulcers. But I kill monsters for a living, so go me.” He’s not even sure why this is pouring out of his mouth. It’s not even something he’s ever let himself fully _think_ let alone say.  
  
Loki doesn’t look surprised though. He looks almost understanding. “It sounds like a hard life.” He shuffles through the big pockets on his green jacket before pulling out a fun-size Snickers bar and holding it out to Dean. “Here. Let me be the first to pay you properly.”  
  
Dean stares at the wrapper for a long time before he looks back up. “You think this is fucking funny?”  
  
“No. I think it’s sad that you’d let something as small as being paid get in the way of the fact that you’re a big hero who saves lives and kills monsters. I pay money every month to get the digital version of that. Forgive me if I’m unimpressed by your personal pity party.”  
  
There’s silence for a long moment, and then Ope clears her throat and taps the ashes off her cigarette. “Fuck Loki. _Harsh_.”  
  
Except it’s not harsh, it’s true. Dean’s been riding his own ass about the witch and the curse since Ope told him the truth. Been down on himself and his chosen lifestyle without ever stopping to consider the many reasons he got into it in the first place. The lives he’s saved, the families that have been brought back together, and the many people that have tearfully thanked him.   
  
Dean can’t go back in time. He can’t change what happened with Sam, or how badly he feels about that, but he’s been able to crawl his way back up bit by bit with every life he’s saved and every person he’s helped. It’s important to remember that, so yeah, Loki isn’t being particularly nice about it but he’s got a point. Dean’s always been big on learning the lessons that are put in front of him, and this feels like one.   
  
“You’re too short to hunt.” Ope lets out a noise of shock and anger, but Loki just laughs.   
  
“That the best you got Dean-o? Because I may be short, but I’m brutally handsome, incredibly witty, and all the ladies love me. Isn’t that right Opey?”  
  
“You’re both assholes. Big, big assholes. I want Sam to come back so I’m not drowning in your assholeness.” She drains her beer and pops open another one. “Seriously.”  
  
“Aw don’t pout sweets, I’m sure you’d make an excellent monster hunter. Look at those legs. All muscle and-“ He cuts off his words and the familiar caress when she slaps his hand and bares her teeth at him. Dean can’t help but laugh.   
  
There’s a weight that lifts off him then, watching the sun travel across the sky and having a beer with a friend and…whatever the hell Loki is. When Sam gets back he joins them on the porch and watches them drink and argue, smiling when Loki and Ope start to really get into it. The angrier she gets the more flippant and joyous Loki looks, and Dean can’t help but admire how the interaction brings out Sam’s dimples or makes his eyes shine.  
  
“What the fuck do you mean you researched _my uncle_? You researched my goddamn uncle?”  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
Dean can’t help the groan that falls past his lips as Sam licks a stripe up the inside of his thigh. Sam his lover. Sam his brother. Sam his everything.  
  
He remembers the revelation, the moment when all the lies came crashing down, and he remembers all too well the self-loathing and the horror. He just can’t recall the whys behind those feelings at the moment. There’s still times when he looks over and thinks of all the things his brother has been denied, both by being abandoned and by Dean’s seduction. That doesn’t change the fact that they can’t work apart. They can’t live without each other.  
  
“Aren’t you s’posed to be Googling that monster?” He doesn’t want Sam to break off and start using the laptop again, but responsibility has to at least be acknowledged no matter how much Dean would prefer to just let Sam finally make his way up to Dean’s demanding dick.  He has to at least pay lipservice to duty though. Hmmm… _lipservice_. He almost giggles.  
  
Then Sam’s biting his thigh, bringing his attention back to the matter at hand, and can he only think in dirty innuendos?   
  
There’s no script for this sort of thing. It’s not like it used to be, where Dean said the right things and the other party said the right things, and then pants were dropped and fucking commenced. There’s no guarantee from one incident to another that Dean will be on top or bottom, or that he’ll be in control or not. He didn’t even know you could top from the bottom until Sam.  
  
It never fails to amaze him really how much Sam has taught him about sex, about intimacy, and about what a life can be. A _life_. That’s what Dean has now. It’s an unwelcome revelation, because Sam’s plush lips are wrapping around the head of his cock and he gasps and jerks his hips once before Sam gets both of those bear paws on him and holds him down and steady.    
  
But it’s true. Dean has a life, with a partner that he loves more than anything, a home that sits in one place, and extended family in the form of Bobby and Ope. He has people that he can always fall back on if things go wrong, that will answer their phones if he needs them, and that will go to the ends of the earth to make sure he’s ok. They’ve all proven that at some point, but it took Sam constantly guiding him into this realm of complacency to make Dean realize it.   
  
So maybe it’s the heady rush of knowing that he isn’t alone anymore and that he isn’t just going through the motions, or maybe it’s losing the weight of only seeing himself as _daddy’s blunt little instrument_ , or maybe, just maybe, it’s the slick pressure of Sam’s mouth around his dick. Whatever it is Dean starts talking and Sam never once lets up on the incredible head he’s giving him.   
  
“When I was younger I thought I wasn’t worth shit. That all I really meant to the world was what I could kill or how many people I could save before I just winked out. I thought I’d die, and nobody would mourn me, and that would be it. Somebody else would burn my corpse and then I’d be ashes on the a-air.” His voice stutters when Sam’s suction increases, but when he looks down Sam’s eyes are closed and he’s focused wholly on the task he’s taken on.  
  
“Except it wasn’t really thinking it Sammy. It was just something that I knew so deep it never came up. Like how you know you’ve gotta breathe or that morning comes after night. Instinct or some shit and I – _oh fuck_ \- I just let it go. Just internalized all that shit because it seemed right. That was what dad did, so that was what I was gonna do. It didn’t matter what happened around me, or who seemed to think different, I just did what I thought was my job.”  
  
Sam’s eyes swept open then, blue dancing with green and grey, and Dean was momentarily breathless. They shone with love and acceptance, support, and sympathy for Dean’s issues, for his many insecurities.   
  
“Then you came along and suddenly somebody wanted me to live. They wanted me to be a person, and being a hunter came second. Like, really far in second second, and that was…fuck man that was just it. That was everything. I wasn’t the drifter that came in and took care of the problem before disappearing. Not anymore. I was _somebody_ , and Sam I can’t fucking thank you enough for that. For all of it. Because I’m a _person_ now.”  
  
Sam’s eyes stayed there, locked on Dean’s, and then her swirled his tongue and flicked his thumb against Dean’s furled entrance and that was the end of it. Dean was coming like a freight train, no time to give warning or anything else, and Sam was swallowing all of it down and taking it away. Leeching Dean of every last doubt and concern.   
  
And yeah, maybe this level of openness wouldn’t happen again, or would require a huge amount of alcohol to be reached, but it had come. Dean had gotten it all out, spilled the poison, and nothing bad had happened. Sam hadn’t laughed, hadn’t looked at him like he was less, and even now Sam was just staring at him with that open and loving look. Sam was still gazing at Dean like he was personally responsible for every good thing the world held.   
  
And that look? More than any look that had ever been a part of his life _that_ look got Dean high. That look set his blood on fire and made him feel a thousand feet tall and indestructible. That look was more than anything and everything, and for the first time in his life Dean forgot what his father’s look of pride was like. All he could see was Sam.


	2. Gabriel

Gabriel has not been around for long. He came to being in front of his Father and his two brothers, and Lucifer and Michael were instantly glad to see him. Gabriel knew upon coming to existence everything his Father wished him to know, and so the knowledge of his name, his purpose, and those of his brothers is already waiting for him. He is the third, and he will be his Father’s Messenger. That is all that Gabriel needs.  
  
There is a council of Gods like his Father, and Gabriel is sent in his Father’s stead. They divide the universe into portions, and then they divide a ball of rock and discuss where they will be allowed to place their followers. Gabriel gets no more and no less than his Father requested, because that is what he was told. He wants to ask about the other Gods. How old are they? Do they have creations like himself and his brothers? What will their followers believe?  
  
He asks nothing, because he isn’t supposed to wonder, but he still has so many questions.  
  
He stays quiet because his Father told him to only speak regarding the plan and the dispersal of land. There is a God there, the son of another God who is loud and angry, who winks at him. He says his name is Loki, and he strings together a series of words that have basic conceptual meanings, but no solid reality behind them. Words like _knock_ and _orange_. Loki says it is the first joke in Creation, and Gabriel believes him, but he doesn’t know why Loki laughs afterwards. He responds with laughter though, because joy is pleasant.  
  
The world is seven days old when Gabriel is first allowed to walk on it. There’s a primordial stew on the ground that Father specifically stated they are not allowed to touch, and Gabriel obeys. That is what he is for after all, _obedience_. Michael tells them all what they can and cannot touch, what they should stay away from, and Gabriel obeys Michael as well. There are so few of them, and they have so much space to cover. So much to see.  
  
Father’s creation is amazing, and Gabriel allows himself the pleasure of feeling the tips of _leaves_ of reveling in sensation which is a fairly new experience for him. He has a form here, and his form loves this place. _Toes_ touch _water_ , and Gabriel relishes in the newness of _wet_ and _warm_.   
  
Michael calls out moments after he has felt another plant, and tells him that the thing is off-limits. But Gabriel just touched it, and Father said nothing. Nothing bad has happened. Gabriel experiences two things for the first time in that moment; a _frown_ , and _doubt_.   
  
Father calls them all together in the center of the Garden, and there he wakes the human for the first time. The man is small, simple looking, but Gabriel knows better. He knows that his Father is perfection, and as such everything that they look at here is intricate and detailed. The man looks around, and then focuses on them. His eyes are wide, shining, wet, and Gabriel is tempted to reach out and poke him. Just to see what would happen. He doesn’t though, because their father specifically stated that the human was off-limits.   
  
From the man comes a woman, and Gabriel is instantly pleased. She’s wonderful, her eyes don’t go slack the way the man’s do, and instead they take into account every part of their surroundings. When her eyes turn on the first man they go wide, and then soft and sweet. It is the first time Gabriel sees _love_ , and that’s transformative. There is a part of him that knows everything their Father imbued them with, and love was in that list, but he has never _seen_ it. The woman loves the man, her eyes say it and her hands stroke softly and smoothly over the place where their Father brought her from.  
  
Gabriel wishes, fervently, that she would look at him like that. Wishes he was made to be loved the way their Father made the man. Except that is not for him, and Gabriel will not overstep his bounds.   
  
This day, the first day that he walks upon Creation and the first day that man takes breath, is the day Gabriel learns more about his state of being then he ever expected to. Until now he has been nothing but an observer. When their Father moved His will, they simply watched. Gabriel has known that he was created to protect his Father’s work, to obey his Father’s will, and to stand beside his brothers. All of that is simply a part of his being, a thing that he knows without knowing how or when or why. So now he is standing on his Father’s greatest work, staring upon love for the first time, and he swells with pride at what he is a part of. He has been _created_ to protect this. To protect the simple and humble love within the woman’s eyes.   
  
While he is thinking all of that, marveling at the design trapped in simplicity, the man finally responds to the woman’s tender touches and gentle looks. He reacts by pushing her away sharply, eyes narrowing in an emotion Gabriel instantly knows is called _disgust_. She cries out in what he believes is _anguish_ , and then falls backwards. The man turns to his Father and speaks the first words since he awoke in the Garden. “She is refuse.”  
  
Father destroys her with a thought. Gone are the soft and loving eyes, the expression of joy and surrender, gone is everything Gabriel came to admire in man in seconds. She is replaced with a secondary choice, but the man doesn’t care for this one either. She refuses to submit. Father names him Adam, and her Lilith, and then she is cast out of the Garden.   
  
For his third try Father puts Adam to sleep and creates another woman out of his rib. When Adam awakes he loves her, and she submits, and all is well. Except for Gabriel, who looks on the scene without the joy that he had in the beginning. Who is Adam to question their Father? Who is Adam to suggest that he deserves different, better, when Gabriel and his brothers have been given nothing? Why did the woman, who will now forever be nameless, have to be the one destroyed?  
  
That’s when Father commands them to kneel before the two humans, and Gabriel responds automatically because that is what they were made for. That is why they exist.   
  
Lucifer does not kneel.  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
Creation has changed drastically by the time Gabriel finally goes to his Father. The first humans have given way to the ones Father had brewing in the primordial stew. Even with Adam gone Lucifer is still surly and unhappy, and the tensions between him and Michael have only escalated as the years have gone on. Lucifer sees no point in the creatures learning to walk on two legs or re-capturing language, something that should have been their birthright (Lucifer points out), but has been lost to them due to bad behavior.   
  
He takes a seat near his Father and waits to be acknowledged before he begins to ask questions. “Father, what will the new humans do? Why did we let the first ones die? What will appease Lucifer’s anger?”  
  
His Father is indulgent if distant. “They will do what they want Gabriel. They have Free Will. As for Lucifer, he will have to make this decision on his own.”  
  
“What is Free Will?” Gabriel knows the words, he knows all of the words, but they have no meaning. They are as confusing and mysterious as Loki’s jokes.  
  
“It means they can do whatever they please Gabriel.”  
  
He knows a dismissal when he hears one. Gabriel leaves thinking that Free Will sounds excellent.  
  
  
\----  
  
  
When things go completely wrong Gabriel is not prepared. Michael and Lucifer have been arguing for so long Gabriel has gotten used to it. It no longer bothers him to see his brothers glaring at each other when they are called together, or whispering about one another in the halls of Heaven. It has become normal.   
  
This is why it catches him so off guard when he returns to Heaven from delivering a message to find his oldest brother collecting an army of angels. He stops Michael in the Great Hall and asks what is happening.   
  
“Lucifer has decided that he is tired of Father’s commands. That he can do better. I am collecting angels to stop him.”  
  
Gabriel has watched the humans for long enough to know what comes next. He grabs his oldest brother’s arm as he tries to leave. “Wait. Michael there must be another way. Father would not want this.”  
  
“If Father did not want me to stop Lucifer from usurping him he would say so. It is time to pick a side Gabriel.”  
  
“At least let me speak to him. He may say this is the wrong way Michael.” He tries to share all of his urgency, his pleading, and after a moment Michael relaxes in his grip.   
  
“Fine. Speak to Father.”  
  
Gabriel rushes to his Father’s throne, and finds him seated in the same way he has been for millions of years. He reaches out and receives the acceptance that means he can speak freely. “Father, we must act. Michael is about to go to war with Lucifer.”  
  
The response is lackluster to say the best. “I am aware.”  
  
“You cannot- _Father please_.  They will destroy each other and Heaven in the process. _Please_.”  
  
He’s never begged before. It’s not a part of his being, not something he was created for, and he’s being dismissed. He knows it. Still he stands in the presence of his Father and begs.   
  
“I will not stop them.”  
  
And with that the war begins. Gabriel fights with Michael, because it is his duty to protect his Father’s creation. He fights, and his brothers die under his sword. In the end Lucifer is cast down, and his Father shows neither joy nor sadness. Just an infinite weariness Gabriel is finally beginning to understand.  
  
“You will go to Earth. You will tell a man named Joseph that his wife is giving birth to my son. Then you will tell a man named Mohammed about a new religion that he will start.”  
  
Gabriel knows that he shouldn’t ask questions. Michael is constantly telling him he asks too many, and if it was for him to know then his Father would have already explained it. He asks anyway. “Will this not cause strife amongst the humans? Why do you need new creeds in your name?”  
  
“Go Gabriel.”  
  
And that’s it. That’s all that he gets, and all that he is allowed. So Gabriel goes, and he discharges his final two missions from his Father.   
  
  
  
\------  
  
  
There are three religions now in his Father’s name, and each one has broken into smaller pieces. Gabriel has taken to spending time on Earth, because being in Heaven only reminds him of what they’ve lost. Of everything that building his Father’s power base has cost them. With the three faiths the other Gods stand no chance of gaining followers at the rate his Father does, and with that his Father’s power grows exponentially.   
  
Gabriel is on Earth when the news comes. The prophecy has been decided, and as it’s written in the human books it will come to pass that his brothers will fight again, and when they do it will be the end of Creation. One will finally kill the other. He’d like to say it surprises him that his father is willing to let this happen. Would like to say that he is saddened by the news, or upset that this is what it’s come to.   
  
Instead Gabriel finds himself in a mead hall with Loki, who looks exhausted and run down. The God turns to him as he drinks from his horn. “Humans bore me.”  
  
Gabriel studies the crowd of Norsemen around them for a moment before turning back. “What will you do? There is no other option.”  
  
“There’s one.” The God’s eyes twinkle for a moment as he studies Gabriel closely. “You’re sick of doing your dad’s dirty work, and you’re sick of Heaven. I think we can help each other out.”  
  
“I do not understand.” Gabriel sips his own mead and enjoys the honey. Sweet things are well worth the rest of Earth’s disgusting qualities.  
  
“I want to die Gabriel. I want to move on to something better. I’m offering you my place.”  
  
At that he turns to take the God in a little more fully. This isn’t a joke. He can tell by the weary lines and the heaviness in the usually happy eyes. Loki wants to move on, and he’s offering Gabriel his title and his powers. Which, at this point, are small compared to his own. But the anonymity, the _freedom_ , those are things that can’t be scoffed at. Gabriel wouldn’t have to stick around and wait for the coming of the two brothers that will house his brothers. He won’t have to fight again, and that means he will never put his blade in another of his siblings. He will never be asked to kill what he’s supposed to love.  
  
“I will take it.”  
  
“Good. Excellent. You’re gonna have to play the part though. Now let’s discuss contractions.” 

  
\-----  
  
  
Gabriel has been the Norse God Loki for almost a century when he meets Kali. He saw her once before at the original council, but she doesn’t recognize him as anything other than the Trickster. At first she’s fairly certain she wants to kill him, but he easily talks her out of it. When they fall into bed it’s still only a hairsbreadth away from violence, but Gabriel finds he kind of enjoys that.   
  
There are so many things about being the Trickster god that he loves. He’s able to do anything he wants, and that’s a heady rush Gabriel can’t express in words. He finds the humans that remind him of Adam, so cocky and self-assured that there’s nowhere for them to go but straight to a serving of humble pie. Sometimes he lets them live after he’s taught them their lesson. Most times he doesn’t. If there’s any lingering shred of guilt at this point about the fact that he’s killing what he was once sworn to protect it falls by the wayside.   
  
His Father knows where he is, knows what he’s done, and obviously doesn’t care enough to step in. Gabriel is ok with that too. For several years he and Kali leave a bloody and glorious path of destruction behind them. He finds the last of his control slipping, and sometimes whole cities fall beneath them. There’s no hesitation, and certainly no questioning her. She sees it as purification by fire, and if anyone knows how badly humans need purified it’s Gabriel.  
  
Except it doesn’t take long for him to find that the sort of brutal destruction he’s taking part in doesn’t make him feel better. In fact it only leaves him emptier than he was when he first met Kali. Everyone assumes that he’s happy, that he enjoys what he does, and sometimes they’re right. Sometimes though, the sheer weight of the evil humans are willing and capable of unleashing upon each other leaves him wondering who he could pass the mantle off to.   
  
He finds himself in a forest, watching as Kali leads the villagers to sacrifice their offspring to a pyre in her name. The villagers want to live, and to do so they must hand over their children. Kali looks his way once before turning her dark eyes back onto the bonfire.   
  
“What is the matter Loki? Not enough levity here?”  
  
Gabriel bites his lip and then leans back against the broad tree behind him. “What’s the point?”  
  
“The _point_ -“ her voice bites tightly as another child is dropped into the blaze, “is proving how easily manipulated they are. How eager they are to get rid of their burdens. Look at them. Not even animals would do this, but they jump to the opportunity as long as their own hides are preserved for one more day.”  
  
He wants to agree, he really does, but he can see the way the women are weeping. He can hear how some of the men sob, and more than a few have slipped quietly out of the village and left for what may be certain death in the interest of saving their children’s lives.   
  
“You know dearest, I think I’m going to take off. This scene is just a little too heavy for me.”  
  
She bares her teeth once before turning her back on him. “You’re too weak to be a proper consort.”  
  
“Yeah, I probably am.”  
  
\-----  
  
He’s had so much alcohol in the past few… _months_. It has been months since he entered the Great Hall in Valhalla, and Odin and Thor are starting to look the worse for wear. He can absorb more, but at this point there is nowhere to go on the drunken meter but up. Who starts the discussion will later be a source of great debate, punctuated by violence, but whoever starts it Gabriel plans on finishing it.  
  
“They’re gonna do it. Of course they’re gonna do it. They gotta do it.”  
  
Odin squinted his one eye as Thor shook the hall with his belch. “What do you mean?”  
  
“They’re only humans. They have all of Heaven and Hell ‘gainst ‘em. Who’s gonna help? Who’ll stop ‘em from making the mistakes?”  
  
What does he mean? Does he really believe that all of it is pre-destined and unavoidable? If that’s true, then why did he ever switch sides?  
  
It hits him then, that if he wants to stay neutral it doesn’t mean he has to refuse _all_ action, just actions that pick a side. Since both sides want the war to happen, then the only truly neutral thing to do is stop it from happening at all. That’s what Switzerland did after all. Wasn’t it? He can’t remember. He spent a good deal of that war in Belize.   
  
“Loki, son, what do you mean?”  
  
Odin shudders when Gabriel turns his gaze on him. “I’m gonna go start some trouble.”  
  
He doesn’t need to explain it better than that. It’s really all they need to know to stay out of his way.  
  
So Gabriel travels back to earth, still intoxicated, but happily so. He finds a psychic strong enough to receive his voice, and he sends the first message he’s given since Mohammed so many years ago.   
  
The man trembles before his presence, terrified that Gabriel will reveal himself and cause the man’s destruction, but all he does is share the information that Sam Winchester is going to bring the Apocalypse if he stays with Dean Winchester. That he should be given to someone who can be trusted to raise him with protection and plausible deniability. Maybe he doesn’t word it that pretty, but he’d defy anyone to say it more formally with as much godly booze as he’s got in his system. He walks away feeling proud of himself for the first time in centuries.  
  
  
  
\----

 

  
The first time he looks in on Sam Winchester is after the grapevine picks up the word on Destiny’s plan. There’s some puppet that’s harboring the youngest Winchester, raising him to be good and kind so that his older brother will love him and then murder him. Gabriel may have lost his temper at that news. He _may_ have destroyed some things. What he certainly did not do was feel guilty at the knowledge that a little girl somewhere witnessed one of her parents brutally murdering the other before offing himself. He certainly didn’t think it was his fault that she would be twisted beyond recognition and used by Heaven as a disposable pawn.  
  
So he starts internet chats with the boy from various locations around the world. They “meet” in a forum board, and from there he talks Sam into instant messages, and then finally video chat. The picture quality is certainly better on his end than on Sam’s, since technically Gabriel is broadcasting from the wires hooked into Sam’s home. The first thing he sees is Sam sitting in a chair, pale-faced and shaking. He studies the boy, and _boy_ he is, very carefully.   
  
This is Lucifer’s vessel? This is the end of the world? He looks like a strong breeze could knock him down and kill him. His hands shake terribly, and the only thing that seems to be holding him down in his chair is the girl leaning on him. Gabriel takes her in next, and what he sees surprises him. He expected someone soft and maternal. Some sweet little thing that would coax the wild animal out of its hovel and gently talk it down.   
  
What he sees instead is a girl with billiard table green hair cut long in the front and short in the back. Her eyes are blue, and colder than the Arctic ice Gabriel occasionally uses for his cocktails. If she were an animal she would eat her young before she cuddled them close. Her lips purse once, and then she licks them and squeezes Sam’s shoulder. His voice comes out slightly steady, only a hint of the fear Gabriel can practically smell rolling off of him.   
  
“You’re L-Loki right? I’m Hamlet.”  
  
He forces a smirk, something easy and affable, and the response is instant. Before words can leave his lips the puppet’s fingers begin to tap Sam’s shoulder and her eyes narrow down to icy points. He keeps it friendly though.  Keeps it friendly and tries to see what she’s like when she’s pushed. “Hi Hammy! Yep, I’m Loki. Who’s the Suicide Girl? Your sweetie?”  
  
If it’s possible her lips get thinner and tighter. “His sister. Ope.” Her voice is smooth and warm. It’s supposed to be threatening, but Gabriel gets an odd thrill from it.  
  
Sam shoots her a look, somewhere between hopeful and frightened. “She’s just-just wanted to-she’s gonna-“  
  
“Make sure you’re not some perverted stalker who wants to turn us into housewares. Tilt the camera, I want to see your fucking lampshades.” Her lips have relaxed, gained plush fill, and briefly Gabriel wonders if they’d taste as sweet as her words are hard.  
  
He doesn’t have lampshades, he isn’t in a real physical location, so he conjures up an image of a room that fits in the persona he’s sold Sam of the reclusive hacker. When he “tilts” the camera angle back to his face he can’t help a waggle of his eyebrows. “I don’t want to wear you sweets, but I wouldn’t mind getting inside you.”  
  
For half a second he thinks that Sam will disconnect the feed. It’s exactly the wrong thing to say to a human, but he’s been talking to Gods or marks for so long he’s sort of lost a good deal of his casual conversational skills. It takes him by surprise then that what he gets in response is laughter. First Ope’s, bright and surprised, and then Sam’s.  
  
“Ok _Hamlet_. Just don’t give him an address. He looks like a fucking mooch.”  
  
“Baby I’d-“ but she’s gone, and it’s just him and Sam Winchester then. They stare at each other for a long silent moment, and then Gabriel gets the smirk back firmly in place. “So other than chatting with strangers, what do you do for fun?”  
  
It’s an unexpected side effect of his discussions with Sam that he employs the kid for the more mundane aspects of his pranks. Anything that requires technology suddenly has a physical element with no supernatural trace, and Gabriel isn’t willing to admit how conserving that energy is useful to him.   
  
More importantly he isn’t willing to admit that neither of the humans are what he expected, nor what he wanted. That Sam, once he relaxes and opens up, is friendly and charming in a way Gabriel thought most humans had lost. He shines with love for Ophelia, and a sort of diminished hope that gives Gabriel pause. There’s pain there, a world of it, but Sam’s not beaten totally down.   
  
Ophelia is a completely different kind of surprise. For some reason, Gabriel thinks of a nameless mortal woman cast down for loving a man too short-sighted to understand what he lost.  
  
  
  
\-----

 

 

Gabriel is over four billion years old when he realizes that he is in love for the first time. It’s Dean Winchester who figures it out first, and Gabriel wonders briefly if he can smite the prick without anyone knowing he’s the one that did it.  
  
And of course once Gabriel knows there’s no going back. He’s heard the ridiculous human myths about angels being made to love people, and he’s aware that some of the younger angels have even been talked into believing that this is true. Gabriel knows better. He knows the difference between love and obedience, and if he had any questions about that difference Ophelia has been kind enough to clarify all of them by being the most disobedient little thing in Creation.  
  
But she loves him back. He knows that now, and he knows that he can’t have it, and that’s the worst part. The part where it got held out to him, and then taken away.   
  
This may finally be the long awaited punishment his Father never doled out for him abandoning his position. At least he’d think that, if he believed his Father gave two shits about him becoming a pagan god and leaving Heaven behind. Instead he finds that now that he knows the smell and feel of her, the sound of her happy, and the weight of her loving gaze on him, he can’t live without it. Or he _can_ , but he doesn’t _want_ to.   
  
There’s a minimal amount of time before she tells the Winchesters who he is, or before Dean and Castiel put the pieces together and figure it out. Either way, he knows that it can’t last. _Won’t_ last. Eventually someone will ask him to cross the line and Gabriel will have to put his foot down. That’ll be the end of them. He knows it already, and the knowing brings him no joy.  
  
So he goes to see her, and finds her dreaming of lying out in the sun on a huge rock overlooking Lake Michigan. The water is bluer than it has any right to be, and the sun is the perfect temperature. There are no other people, and the only sounds are birds in the distance and the gentle waves of the lake moving against the rock she’s on. He studies her for a long minute before she breaks the peaceful setting.  
  
“You’re really here.”  
  
He’s got to stop being surprised by her.  
  
“How’d you know?” Instead of giving himself away he flops down onto the rock beside her and looks out at the water.  
  
“I only dream of you naked.” It’s accompanied by an eyebrow waggle she’s stolen off of him. He laughs, because that’s what he’s supposed to do.  
  
“Is that all I am to you Opey? A hot piece of ass?” He tries to sound aggrieved, but it comes out wrong. There’s too much going on for him to keep up appearances, and the set of her jaw suggests she knows and understands.   
  
“I’ve been thinking about taking a long vacation. Somewhere warm and steamy. Get out of fucking snow and away from the end of the fucking world. That’s what I was dreaming about.”  
  
A fish breaks the surface of the lake, and Gabriel watches it before leaning his head onto the sweat slick skin of her shoulder. It amazes him how detailed it all is. Just like the first time he stares in wonder, but now it’s Ophelia’s creation instead of his father’s.  
  
“Pretty sure Michigan is almost as cold as Maine this time of year. Especially this part of it. You don’t want to see the Bahamas sweets? I could take you there. Maybe Jamaica, or the nicer parts of Mexico?”  
  
Her tongue breaks free and wets her lips before her hand settles into the thick mass of his hair. “Tourist traps. This is much nicer. A world apart.”  
  
Gabriel turns his head just enough to lick her skin, to taste the salty liquid, and then he blinks once as it hits him. “You want to go somewhere alone? Without Sam and his older, lesser shadow?”  
  
“I want to go somewhere with you. When it’s all over. Someplace like this, and just have you. No more masks and no more lies. I want to be honest with one another, and I want it to mean more than a casual fuck, or desperation for connection, or any of that other bullshit. I want you to tell me who you are and what you do. I want to know everything. I want you to ask me the questions you really want to know the answers to.”  
  
“Nobody likes my questions Opey. I’ve been asking too many questions since the beginning of time. It’s my greatest flaw.”  
  
She reaches up, pulls her sunglasses off, and then her eyes land on his face. Her expression is more open and honest than he’s ever seen before, and he knows that look. It’s the one the nameless first woman had before Adam rejected her. It’s trust and love, devotion, honest and plain belief. It’s the door that leads to destruction.   
  
“Yeah? And who told you that? Your dad? Michael and Lucifer? Fuck them. One of them can’t be bothered to take responsibility for his own shit, and the other two are entitled assholes who don’t care about anything but their fucking pride.”  
  
For a moment Gabriel isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say. He doesn’t know how to respond to that. She’s right though, on all counts so far, and he knows that. He also knows that there’s a laundry list of other things in the universe that feel the way his Father and brothers do. That he’s a failure, that he needs to be something else, that he needs to be better.

 

And then there’s her. This little, arrogant, foul-mouthed, violent human that he has let down so many times it may as well be his new job description. The one whose parents he caused to die, whose life he stole, and who he let be blinded, maimed, and murdered. Gabriel did all of that, or stood by and let all of that happen, and still here she is baring herself to him. _Praising_ him. It’s incomprehensible, and he can’t help himself when he leans forward and captures her lips. In her dreams she tastes the way she tastes in real life. Cigarettes and life, and he licks his way past the lips and into her mouth before taking her chin in his hand and holding her steady. They stay like that for a long time, slow-moving hands touching each other everywhere and lips sliding over lips.  
  
He feels the pull of the summons just as his hand is cupping her breast, and he pulls back and looks at her. This is it. This will be goodbye.

“I gotta go sweets. No choice. I’m sorry.”  
  
“Go where? What the fuck Gabe. I thought-“  
  
“I’m being called.” He takes his last moment to look at her, to get this look imprinted in his long and detailed memory before it disappears from her face. Before he destroys her. “You’re absolutely amazing sometimes you know that?”  
  
With that he goes to the circle, and faces his little brother and the Winchesters.  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
The next morning he sat silent and waiting, invisible, and he watched as she woke up to a bed full of chocolates and roses. Her lips twitched once, twice, and then she did what she always did. The exact opposite of anything Gabriel was ready for.  
  
The issue, he realized belatedly, was that he’d spent an eternity being what he _could_ be because what he _was_ wasn’t good enough. His Father hadn’t cared enough to support them, had disappeared as soon as it was possible. Michael wanted him because he was a good warrior, Lucifer wanted him to piss off Michael, and nobody had really cared much what Gabriel wanted. Loki had wanted release, and Gabriel had wanted anonymity. Free Will. Father had spoken so casually about it, but it was _everything_. Becoming the Trickster was supposed to give him that, but all it had done was peg him into another niche that he had to fill.   
  
This, this little temporary thing in the bed in front of him, had required nothing. Had asked for nothing, and when it was time for Gabriel to pack his shit and take off like he always did she had simply let him. She wasn’t wrong, he knew everything she was and everything she could be. His Father had given him all the words at the beginning of time, and Gabriel had spent an eternity putting those words into context and learning their _feel_ instead of their meanings.   
  
If it had been an option, if there was a way to continue to be with her and not be a part of the killing he would. He would stay, wrap her up in his arms, chase the stressors away and be everything she needed him to be. He would support her and stay with her.  
  
Instead, Gabriel had turned his back and walked away.   
  
It was Ope that taught him love though. He should be grateful, but he was mostly bitter.   
  
So he expected her to push the piles of shit out of her bed, or to laugh fondly, or any other number of things that would fit in the character of someone stupid enough to know Gabriel for who and what he was and still love him.   
  
Instead she took a deep breath, and then a second, and then buried her face in her hands and cried softly and silently until Gabriel couldn’t take it anymore and he left.  
  
He was setting up a developer who liked to build neighborhoods on top of nuclear waste dump sites when the prayer reached him.   
  
_“Thank you.”_


End file.
